Death's Play
by Addicted Archangel
Summary: What if the life if someone dear to you depended on you playing a game - a game which is impossible to win? And how much would you sacrifice to survive while playing? Pain is the name of the game, and it's about to begin...
1. Let The Games Begin

**A/N: Wohoo, a new story from me :) I really need something to get my mind away from my horrible school right now. English Linguistics - EW! Now, I should mention that this story will feature really nasty things, most likely some gore. Chill, it'll be an awesome ride. Beta read by the lovely LT! Thanks babe, and good luck in the big city!**

-o-o-o-

The first thing he registered was the sound. The slow, whooshing, almost lazy sound sweeping by his ears. He tried to place it, but no source possible came to mind. Apart from the whooshing noise and the occasional creak and crack, it was completely silent around him.

Hotch winced and frowned. His head was pounding like crazy and he almost felt nauseous. Trying bravely to clear his muddled mind, he lifted his arm to rub his eyes. It felt like a slab of meat, at least 50 pounds and almost impossible to maneuver. Rubbing his stinging eyes, Hotch was finally able to focus his gaze. Only there was nothing to focus on.

Turning his throbbing head to the side, he realized that he was lying on his back on the floor in a practically barren room. The walls were tattered and cracked, and the floor was wooden and cold. With a grunt, Hotch rolled over onto his side and raised his upper body onto his elbow and under arm. Looking around, he tried to orient himself.

_Where the hell am I?_

The back of his head was pulsating and felt hot as fire. Hotch raised his free hand to hold his head, and as he withdrew it he realized he was injured, as his fingers were stained with bright red blood. Pushing the pain aside, he wiped the blood off on his dress trousers and sat up.

Bit by bit his memory cleared up and he began to remember what had happened earlier. The scene was played back vividly before his eyes.

-d-d-d-

_He had just arrived outside his apartment building and parked his car in his spot. Walking from the car, he thought about how tired he was after spending a week in Utah and how good that glass of scotch would taste; the glass he would pour himself about thirty seconds after locking the door behind him. After that, he'd call for Chinese take-out and collapse on the couch in front of the TV. National Geographic's Channel was airing a "Forensic Detectives"-marathon tonight._

_Digging in his jacket pocket for the clicker to his front door, he made a humming sound, almost resembling a few notes from a song heard long ago. It lasted only a second or so, but was still there. Somewhere in the distance, a fire truck was blasting its sirens._

_The strike to the back of his head came from absolutely out of nowhere, taking Hotch by complete surprise. He was sent to his knees, a bolt of white pain flashing through his head. Dropping both his clicker and his briefcase, the agent fumbled for his firearm, but time was too short. Another blow to his head sent him reeling over the concrete. He scrambled dizzily to get control of the situation, but his vision was blurred and his legs refused to obey him. A third strike hammered him to the pavement, and as he lay on his back, aimlessly wailing his arms for protection, one last blow to his head made the world go black._

-d-d-d-

Hotch pushed himself off the floor and up to his feet. The burning jolt of pain shooting through his head made him wince slightly, but it was over as soon as it started, and he could look around. There was nothing in the room except a wooden door in one of the walls. There wasn't even a window, only brown, tattered walls with fading, dirty wallpaper that was falling off in shreds. The floor was covered in dirt and dust, most of which had attached itself to Hotch's trousers and shirt. His jacket was missing.

A single light bulb hung from a cord on the ceiling, swinging slightly. _At least there's air_, he thought as he saw the bulb moving.

Steering his steps towards the door, he twisted the door knob. Naturally, nothing happened. To be honest, the experienced agent would have been more surprised if the door had indeed swung open. Whoever put him in here did it for a reason.

Looking around the walls, he tried to locate the source of the air flow, but nothing stood out. He began knocking the wall next to the door. Tap tap. Solid.

"Hello?" he called out to no one in particular. "Is there anyone there?"

Dead silence.

Now he noticed the smell. It smelled of mold, wet dirt and old wood. It was definitely an old house, wherever it was, and hadn't been used in a long time.

Suddenly, a loud, distorted voice boomed through the room, making Hotch jump ever so slightly.

"_Good morning, Agent Hotchner."_

It was followed by a few moments of silence before Hotch responded. "Who are you?"

"_That is not of any importance. What is important is that you are here. I've been waiting for this moment for a long time."_

"And where is 'here'?" Hotch knew he would gain very little by letting his rage and frustration out. He had to keep calm and collected to find out more about the person holding him here.

"_You always were full of questions. But enough now. There is something you need to do. As a matter of fact, that is the reason you are here."_

Hotch scanned the room to spot the source of the booming voice. He finally found it. Neatly imbedded in the stained ceiling was a black speaker, the size of a CD.

"_If you want to get out of this room, Agent Hotchner, you have to play a little game with me."_

A sharp twist in Hotch's stomach sent a wave of anger induced nausea through his gut. He swallowed it back. "I don't play games."

"_I do recommend that you reconsider that. It's rather important that you leave this room. You see, there's someone on the other side of the door who would much like to meet you."_

Hotch stood silent.

"_Talk to the man."_

"Who am I supposed to…?" He started but didn't get to finish before a new, undistorted voice sounded through the speaker. This voice was much more insecure. Hotch's heart took a leap into his throat when he recognized the voice.

"_Hotch? Hotch, what's going on? I can't…augh!"_

The voice was abruptly interrupted by what sounded like a punch and a yelp, and the distorted voice returned.

"_So, Agent Hotchner. Will you play my game now?"_

Hotch gritted his teeth. "I will _not_ play your game, and if you hurt him I swear to God I will…"

"_You'll what?"_ the voice interrupted. _"You can't even get out of the room. I can pretty much do whatever the hell I want."_

There was silence for a moment before it was pierced by a blood curdling scream. Hotch took a few rapid steps towards the speaker. "No! Stop!" The scream repeated itself after a second, and it was too much for Hotch to bear. "Alright! Alright, I'll play!"

The scream morphed into a groan, then a small moan and finally a whimper before dying out completely. A metallic clang was heard in the background before the demonically distorted voice once again was heard from the speaker.

"_A wise choice made by a wise man."_

"Leave him alone."

"_Won't lay a hand on him, as long as you do as I say."_

Hotch didn't trust the person on the other end of the microphone further than he could spit. But right now, he didn't have a choice. He also hoped that by cooperating moderately with the UnSub, he could gain more knowledge about him. Being here alone told him more than enough about the UnSub to know that he should not play the cocky federal agent. That would hurt both him and his subordinate. "What is it that I'm supposed to do?" His voice never faltered.

"_Play the game, Agent Hotchner. Find the key to the door, and you are free to leave. It's somewhere on you."_

Hotch instinctively put his hands in his trouser pockets, finding them empty. The shirt pocket on this chest was also empty, as were the back pockets of his dress pants. He patted the shirt and the pants, dug his toes around in his shoes, but there was nothing. He looked up at the speaker, nearly burning it up with one single glance.

There was a short chuckle.

"_Did I say __**on**__ you? I meant __**in**__ you."_

Momentarily stunned, Hotch stared at the ceiling. "What?"

"_The key is somewhere in you. Good luck finding it. I'll talk to you again, should you manage to exit the room. Toodles, Agent Hotchner!"_

Hotch's brain quickly analyzed the situation and the options he had. The list was quickly narrowed down to two. Option one was to do as the deranged psychopath told him. Option two was much more attractive at the moment.

He took a few steps away from the door, then charged at it, shoulder first. The impact was hard, but the door didn't budge. Repeating the procedure, he charged at the door, but once again it didn't give way the least. After a few tries, he had to give up. His shoulder felt like it was shattering, and the door stood as if bolted.

Thinking about what the UnSub had said, the gears in his head started turning. It all felt very familiar somehow.

_Where the hell could he possibly have put a key 'in' me? _He thought, unconsciously putting his hand on his stomach. _There are only so many places that things can be inserted._

He shuddered at the thought of having a foreign object involuntarily put into his body.

_He couldn't have made me eat it. That's impossible. Could he have…no…_

A disturbing thought flew through Hotch's mind. There _were _only so many places a key could be inserted. And he had already excluded one. The one remaining was not an attractive place to go digging for hidden treasures.

Hotch's head was still throbbing and he covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to figure out what to do. Everything was beyond confusing. He winced as he accidently grazed his wound with his hand, and jerked his hand away.

A second later, he reached back up to the open wound, a thoughtful twinkle in his eye.

_There are only so many places…_

Letting his fingers run over the jagged edges of the wound, they became warm and sticky with blood. Almost instantly, he found something that was out of the ordinary. Under his skin, about half an inch from the wound's edge, there was a thin, hard rise. It was painful to even touch it.

It felt like a key, and it was buried under his skin.

"_In" my body. You sick bastard._

Hotch began prodding at the key, trying to push it towards the open wounds. It slid along under the skin, cutting and shredding everything in its way. He groaned, screwing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw. It took him almost a full minute of excruciating agony to get the key close enough to the wound for him to actually make physical contact with the metal.

Stopping momentarily, he drew deep breaths. He felt his legs beginning to wobble and his fingers were trembling terribly. Hotch had to lean on the wall to be able to continue. With one last gathering of strength, he reached up with both hands behind his head. With one hand, he strenuously dug a finger under the torn skin and lifted it as far as he could. With the other, he eventually managed to coerce the cursed key out from under the flap. Grunts and groans, almost animal like noises, escaped him as he fought the piercing pain. Over and over he lost his grip on the key as it was covered in blood and his fingers were full out shaking. Finally, he had the key between his fingers and could let go of everything else. With one last groan, he brought his hands down and looked at the key in his hand.

_When I get a hold of this guy…_ He thought, balling his fist around the bloodied key.

Leaning against the wall to regain composure, Hotch drew some deep breaths, bringing oxygen to his brain. Soon, he was clear enough to move again.

He hurried towards the door, bringing the key up to the lock. With a quick twist and a sharp click, it was opened. Hotch pulled on the knob and almost tearing the door open. Once it opened, he stopped short, letting go of the knob.

He stood face to face with a solid brick wall.


	2. Behind Door Number One

**A/N: Yet another chapter for your pleasure, my friends. This story doesn't seem to have had as big of an impact as my previous stories, but hopefully it will pick up as it goes along. Ah well, as long as you enjoy it, I'm happy :) Beta read by the lovely LT who is a lucky, lucky girl these days! Congrats babe!!**

-o-o-o-

For a few moments, Hotch simply stared at the brick wall before him. Then he reached out to tentatively touch it, just to make sure it was for real. It was painfully real. He banged his fist against it a few times, and then put all his weight on it, testing its strength. True to his fears, the wall stood solid.

He took a few steps into the room, looking at the walls around him. He knew there was a way out. Whoever this UnSub was, he would not have put him in a room without any humanly accessible exits. He wanted to play, and with the prey trapped in a cage, the beauty of the game would vanish. So the unit chief began searching for the exit he knew would be somewhere along the walls.

Tapping the walls with his knuckles, Hotch methodically moved around the room. He repeatedly got the same sound wherever he knocked.

_It has to be here somewhere_, he thought to himself as he ran his fingers across the painted concrete and peeling wallpaper. Suddenly, his eyes landed on something that differed from the ordinary on the far left wall. There was a surface that was almost completely smooth; the rest of the walls being jagged and damaged.

He crouched in front of the oddity, running his fingers over it. With a light tap, his suspicions were instantly confirmed.

_Hollow. I knew it._

Hotch banged his fist into the wall where he had just tapped it, making only a small dent in the facade. The smooth area was at knee-level, so he stood up, placing both hands on the wall in front of him. With a forceful kick, his foot went straight through what looked like a painted plywood board. Easing his foot back out, he repeated the procedure several times until the board was in shambles and the opening had widened to about the size of the seat of a kitchen chair. He crouched back down and tore away the pieces that were still stuck at the edges.

Looking through the hole, Hotch couldn't see a damn thing. It was completely pitch black. Now _this_ on the other hand was the only way out. He didn't have much of a choice but to enter the darkness.

He felt around inside the hole with his hand before pushing his upper body through the opening. He could barely get his chest to fit through, ending up scraping the back of his shirt to pieces. Gritting his teeth as the jagged edges of plywood dug into the skin on his back, Hotch pulled himself forward with his elbows, eventually getting his entire body into the hole.

Hotch squinted to hopefully see better in the darkness, but it was no use. All he could do was to push himself forward and hope for the best. There was hardly enough room in the narrow tunnel for him to even lift his head, but he kept struggling.

All of a sudden, Hotch's head hit something hard. Stopping, he worked his hand up to feel what he had crawled into. Another flat, smooth surface. He knew he wouldn't be able to break a wooden board in his current position, so he crossed his fingers that it would be possible to just push it out of the way.

Placing both his hands a foot away from the board, he dug his own feet into the uneven floor of the tunnel, and summoning all his strength into one great push, Hotch sent the board flying from its place. He heard it slamming down onto the ground outside, and with a deep sigh of relief he started pushing himself out of the tunnel.

There was light on the other side; light which flooded the tunnel once the board was gone. Hotch could easily slide out of the hole as it, on this side, was much wider than inside the locked room. He landed on the floor with a thud and a moan. His elbows bled through the formerly blue shirt, and his clothes were torn every here and there.

Strenuously, he got to his feet and looked around.

It was a long, narrow corridor, dimly lit by partially flickering fluorescent lights in a ceiling that didn't start far from his head. The walls were part concrete, part wood and partly covered with the same ripped and run down wallpapers as in the room. At none of the ends did there appear to be an exit, simply another concrete wall.

Hotch looked down the corridor, noticing that it had doors on each side. Almost like a hospital, only in a much deteriorated state. Turning his head the other way, he realized that he was standing very close to one of the doors opposing him. It was another brown wooden door. _I wonder if this one has a brick wall behind it as well_, Hotch mused bitterly, knowing full well that whatever game was being played against his will, was far from over.

Before another thought could enter his head, the distorted voice once again boomed through the corridor.

"_Congratulations, Agent Hotchner! You made it out of the room! I never had a doubt that you would; you are much too intelligent to let a brick wall stop you."_

Hotch gritted his teeth. "I'm out now, where is he?"

"_Oh, he is right in front of you. Just open the door and you will find him. You can see this as a reward for being such a good boy and completing your task."_

"What is it that you want?" Hotch asked, trying not to let his anger and frustration pour into his voice, knowing it would only satisfy the UnSub more. A calm and collected mind was what he had to maintain to get through this. That was the most important thing; to make it through whatever it was that was planned for him. Catching whoever was behind it would be a later matter.

"_What it is that I want? I want to play a game, Agent Hotchner. I thought you understood that."_

"Is that all you want? For me to crawl through your tunnels and play games?"

"_You're starting to get the gist of it."_

"And then? What happens when I win the game?"

"_Don't you mean 'if' you win the game?"_

"No, I don't." Hotch had located a small camera pointed straight at him from the ceiling some 20 feet away. Naturally the UnSub would be watching. What would be the point otherwise?

There were a few moments of silence.

"_I like that in a man. Determination. I wish you good luck, Agent Hotchner."_

Some static disturbance sounded through the speaker, and then all went quiet.

Hotch was very content. During the short conversation he had just had with the UnSub, he had revealed a lot about him. Now Hotch had a much greater inkling of what was happening inside the UnSub's mind, an invaluable thing to carry with him as he reluctantly played the game.

He turned towards the wooden door, supposedly leading to his subordinate. Placing a hand on the knob, he twisted it and was rewarded with a tell tale click. He pulled the door open and was faced with a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Morgan, wearing only jeans, was tied down to a chair in the middle of a barren, dank room. Hotch's stomach instantly turned as he drew his first breath. The air was thick with the smell of metal. Blood.

And there was plenty of it. Morgan's rapidly heaving chest was covered in the thick, sticky fluid and it was smeared across his face. Hotch could see the whites of Morgan's eyes through the red mess. The younger agent blinked repeatedly, clearing his eyelashes from drops of blood.

Hotch instantly saw the cuts across Morgan's chest, his torn jeans and the gag in his mouth, and ran across the floor to untie him.

"Morgan!"

Yanking at the ropes holding the younger man down, Hotch could hear him moan through the gag. He reached up to remove it, but Morgan jerked his head away, shaking it.

"What's wrong?" Hotch freed one of the hands and began fighting with the next rope while he looked up at his subordinate.

Morgan lifted his upper lip slowly, baring the gag between his lips. Teeth were missing, leaving dark gaps the diamond white row. Hotch shuddered. The cloth gag was all that kept the blood from flowing free.

"God… What happened?"

Morgan shook his head. "Dnt knw."

"Do you know who did this?" Finally, the other rope came undone and Morgan's hands were free.

The younger agent brought his hands to his face, holding his mouth. He shook his head. "Nn."

"I'll get you out of here, Morgan, I promise." Rising, Hotch looked around the room for something to tie around his subordinate's wounds, but there was nothing. Instead, his eyes landed on yet another small camera in the far corner of the ceiling. As he stared at it, the voice returned.

"_Bravo, Agent Hotchner, you managed to untie ropes."_

"You bastard, what did you do to him?" It was much harder now to keep the anger from his tone of voice.

"_Oh, I was bored. No matter, the door is right over there."_

A click from the wall opposite the door through which he entered was heard, and indeed – a door slid open. It had been the same color as the walls and barely noticeable since it had no handle. A soft blast of fresh air swept through the room and into the profilers' lungs. It was a small smell of heaven.

"_You are free to go."_

Hotch helped Morgan out of the chair and supported him as they walked towards the door. He could see the outside. It was only gravel and junk as far as he saw, and it seemed to be nighttime. It was pitch black.

Just as they were about to pass through the door, the voice spitefully returned.

"_Unless you want to aid the rest as well."_

Hotch halted, still supporting. He had had a strong suspicion that it couldn't possibly have been this easy. "The rest?"

"_Come now, Agent Hotchner – I know you didn't think you'd get out of the game this fast?"_

Hotch was painfully aware of that. "What about Morgan?"

"_Oh, he's of no use anymore; he's filled his purpose. He can leave."_

"How do I know you're not screwing with me?" Hotch spat, staring into the camera.

"_You can't. You're just going to have to trust me."_

Hotch almost bit his lip not to tell the UnSub where he could shove his trust. "You've given me no reason to trust you so far, why should I go along with it now?"

"_Because, Agent Hotchner, you have to. And I know you will. You would never leave this room knowing that someone else _might _need your help. People you love. People you care about. People you couldn't imagine living without…"_

Hotch's heart sank.

"_If I could this easily get my hands on you and the physically strongest man in your little team, what makes you think that I couldn't get the rest as well?"_

Reluctantly, Hotch let Morgan exit the room and step into freedom. Letting go of the younger man, he stepped back into the room. Morgan looked back as he staggered away from the door. "Cmn!"

"No." Hotch shook his head. "I have to stay. What if it's true, what if he does have the team here?"

Morgan watched his superior, wobbling slightly. "Wht abt u?"

"I'll be alright. Go, get help." Hotch motioned his subordinate to leave, and before Morgan could even move a muscle either way, the door slammed shut before their eyes.

There was a deep silence once again as Hotch turned around towards the already open door, leading back out into the hallway. He slowly walked out through the door, letting his brain work overtime.

A profile was rapidly forming in his head.

This was an UnSub who had great knowledge not only of him, but also about his team and the people around him. He had known that Hotch would not leave with Morgan. The fact that the UnSub stressed that Morgan was the _physically _strongest member of the team told Hotch that whoever was behind this was either physically impaired somehow, or lacked in strength. Remembering his own abduction – a cowardly back attack with a tool – pointed towards a physically inferior UnSub.

But what had been the idea behind the way Morgan had been injured? Pulled teeth and cuts. It almost seemed like it all had been done to make a point to the superior. 'Look what I can do.'

He had no more time to think before he stood face to face with yet another door, identical to the last one. Drawing a deep breath, he dreaded what he would find on the other side. Turning the doorknob, he pushed the door open.

Complete darkness. Complete silence.

Hotch took one step into the room, and all hell broke loose. There was a long, loud rattle, a beep that almost pierced his eardrum and finally a loud bang. Then there was once again silence.

"Hello…?" A soft and frightened voice whispered through the darkness. Hotch recognized it instantly, feeling his insides turn violently.

Before he could answer, lights began flickering on in the room, and the door behind him was promptly slammed shut. Hotch turned to yank the knob, but it was already locked.

"Hotch..?"

He turned as he heard his name being whispered. The eyes staring at him through the flickering light were terrified.

And once Hotch realized just what he was looking at, fear began creeping up his spine as well. It was a sight he never wanted to see.

"My God…"


	3. Behind Door Number Two

**A/N: Chapter three, ladies and gentlemen! It's good to be writing again. And apparently I will have an endless amount of time to write during the next (unknown) number of months, since I failed to get accepted to school this year AND lost my job. Boom boom booyah for me, let's get this party started. I'm going out for beers - you read and enjoy. Beta read by the lovely and fabulotasticful LT!**

-o-o-o-

Cold sweat began to break out on Hotch's forehead as he stood silently staring at the scene before him. His heart had already been pounding like a jackhammer when he entered the room, but after coming to the realization of what he was facing, the beating turned frantic.

The loud rattle had been a huge wall of chicken wire on a massive iron frame rapidly lowered from a ceiling which was much higher than in the hallway and the other room. It separated the room down the middle. On the other side of the barrier was an open steel door. Hotch could see the darkness outside and feel a slight breeze coming in through the opening. But there was something else on the other side of the barricade as well.

A gray box, about the size of a small TV, was bolted to the floor. On the side facing Hotch was a glowing red timer, counting down from what appeared to be three minutes. It had already reached 2,46.

Some five foot away from the box a terrified woman was chained hands over head to the wall.

It was Penelope Garcia. Tears ran down her cheeks, staining her pink angora sweater. Her blonde hair was soiled with blood by the right temple.

"Hotch, what's going on…?" she whispered. Hotch could practically _hear_ her trembling. Before he could answer, not that he had an answer to give, the demonic voice returned through the speakers.

"_In case you haven't noticed, Agent Hotchner, there is a countdown going on. You might want to consider actually getting through the fence and saving your colleague? There's enough C-4 in that box to blow you both into small and unmatchable pieces. I'm giving you a choice here. The door is open. You can simply get through the fence and get the hell out, leaving your friend behind. The choice is yours, Agent Hotchner."_

And just as suddenly as the voice had appeared, it was replaced by the same static disturbance as before and faded out.

Leaving was not an option. And there was no time for Hotch to think up a clever answer to the taunting voice. He simply rushed to the fence, grabbed it with both hands and yanked it in an attempt to lift it from the ground. It wouldn't budge an inch. Casting a glance at the floor, Hotch saw the latches which had locked the fence into place on the concrete floor. There was no lifting this barrier from its place.

Frantically, he looked around. The timer had reached 2,31. His eyes fell on something in the far corner of his side of the room. It was a bolt cutter. Rushing over, he snatched it from the ground and ran back to the fence, immediately starting to snap wire after wire with panicked precision.

"Please, hurry Hotch", Garcia whimpered, trying to move her legs from the ground, but failing. She had been planted there for god knew how long. The last thing she remembered was getting out of bed in the evening to get a cup of tea before The Late Show started. She had just reached the kitchen when she heard a shuffling sound behind her, then all went black. She didn't even notice being hit until she woke up in this hell hole, on her knees and chained to a wall. She didn't know how long she'd been here, or even where she was. All she knew was that she had given up screaming for help a long time ago when no one came. She had tried to tear the chains from the wall, but all she had ended up with was bloody wrists and sore shoulders. When she had seen Hotch enter the room, a spark of hope had lit inside of her.

"I'm trying, Garcia, hold on", Hotch grunted while snapping wires on the fence. He had almost cut enough to kick out a hole large enough to crawl through. A quick look at the timer told him that he had less than two minutes left. Of course it could all be a hoax – it could just as well be an empty box, but he couldn't take the risk. He had already seen what this person had done to Morgan. Odds were greater that the box actually contained explosives.

Somewhere in the back of Hotch's head, a thought was milling about. The voice had said "the rest" and referred to "people he loved". People, not person. Plural. There were more people in this godforsaken house. Garcia was not the last one.

Finally, enough wires were cut for Hotch to pry a part of the fence aside. Throwing the bolt cutter through the opening, he took hold of the cut fence and pulled it up with all his might. Mere seconds later he was crawling through the hole, with 1,32 on the timer.

Hotch ran up to Garcia, already having taken the bolt cutter from the floor. "Are you okay?" he asked rapidly, giving her wet cheek a short caress.

Garcia nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Hotch, get me out of here!" Her voice trembled from fear and crying.

A short look at the box told Hotch that there would be no use trying to disarm the explosive device. He didn't have enough experience and the box looked like its cover wouldn't move an inch without special tools. A bolt cutter would be ever so slightly oversized.

The superior stood up and positioned the bolt cutter on the chain shackling Garcia's hands. The chain was more than five times thicker than the wires in the fence, and Hotch struggled to cut them. Sweat dripped off his forehead and ran down his temples.

"Please…" Garcia whispered meekly, looking up at her superior.

All of a sudden, the rhythmic beeping of the timer was accompanied by the demonic voice once again.

"_Tick tock, Agent Hotchner. I suppose I don't need to remind you that there are more people in need of your assistance when you're done with this one. Should you get done with this one, that is."_

"Shut up!" Hotch roared, finally snapping one side of one of the links in the chain. He instantly placed the cutter on the other side and began pressing the handles together with whatever little strength he still possessed.

The voice chuckled smugly. _"Now now, don't use that kind of foul language, there are ladies present. Anyway, tick tock. Might wanna save enough time to get yourself back out the door, if you choose to…"_

"I said shut up!" The anger bubbling up inside Hotch gave him enough strength to snap the second part of the link, and Garcia's hands fell down, still shackled together, but free from the wall. The timer showed 0,28 seconds.

Hotch pulled Garcia to her shaking feet and practically dragged her across the floor to the open door. "Go! Go, run!" But the blonde's feet refused to obey, and she stumbled repeatedly. Hotch took a firm hold of her shoulders and cursing himself, he gave the woman a very hard push, sending her shoulder first out the door and she landed heavily with a groan on the gravelly ground. "Morgan's out there, find him!" Hotch called before slamming the door shut again and rushing across the floor and crawling through the hole in the fence. The timer was rapidly ticking down from 0,11.

He was slowed down by his shirt getting caught in the sharp metal wires, but the superior pushed through on pure adrenalin, stumbling across the floor and yanked the door open. The second he slammed it closed behind him, the explosives went off with a deafening blast.

The wall behind him cracked and the wooden door was blasted off its hinges. Hotch was thrown clear across the hallway and into the wall on the other side. He hit the floor with a dull thud and remained still while the dust and debris settled over and around him.

A few minutes later, Hotch began moving again. His head throbbed and his ears were ringing. Without even really thinking about it, he knew that his old injury to his ear had reappeared. He didn't even need to feel the blood trickling from his ear. The ringing told him everything. Apart from the searing pain shooting through his head and ears, he could move all his limbs fairly well. Some minor scratches and cuts bled through his dirty shirt but it would cease soon enough. He worked his way up to his knees and sat swaying for a few moments, trying to get his bearings straight. Looking at the cracked wall and the large hole where the door used to be, he knew he had been extremely lucky to have gotten out alive. He hoped Garcia had made it far enough away from the door before the blast.

Leaning heavily on the wall, the superior finally got back onto his feet, still swaying slightly. His ear was ringing to the extent where he was almost convinced that his head would explode with the same massive blast as the bomb in the room.

"_Very well done, Agent Hotchner."_ The voice boomed through the hallway once more. _"I almost thought you weren't going to make it."_

Hotch leaned his head against the wall, squinting at the flickering fluorescent lights. "Enough. You've proved your power."

"_Enough? On the contrary, Agent Hotchner, the fun has just started. You didn't think I'd let you off this easy, did you?"_

_Easy_, Hotch thought, glaring at the speaker in the ceiling. _If this was easy, then what the hell lies ahead?_

"_Now, I'd say you've had enough time to collect your thoughts. Besides, you only have so much time to complete the tasks ahead. You have a choice now."_

"Oh, now I have a choice?" Hotch spat blood on the floor, dryly answering the voice.

"_One always has a choice, Agent Hotchner."_

There was a click at the end of the hallway, and Hotch turned towards it. A door had opened, and the same fresh air as before hit him, filling his dust-infested lungs. It was a door to freedom.

"_You are free to leave at any time."_

Hotch looked at the open door and the darkness reigning on the outside. Turning to the other end of the hallway, he saw four more doors. He knew it wouldn't be that easy. He couldn't just leave. If this psychotic lunatic had gotten his hands on Morgan and Garcia, chances were that the rest of his team was behind those doors. Four more members. Four more doors.

"And if I leave?" Hotch questioned. "What will happen then?"

"_Nothing will happen. To you, that is. The others will not be as lucky though."_

"Who are 'the others'?" Hotch asked, already knowing the unspoken answer. He wanted to use the time, assess the UnSub, try to get him talking and analyze the words he used.

"_I told you. People you care about and couldn't imagine living without."_

"But why? What is it that I have done to you that is making you do these things?"

There was a sigh on the other end of the speakers. _"Nothing, Agent Hotchner. You have done nothing to me. I simply get very bored with old playthings." _

"Playthings? What do you mean by that?"

"_Enough talking! You have a choice to make."_ There was a sudden agitation in the UnSub's voice, which was exactly what Hotch had been looking for. Something to set him off.

Hotch clenched his jaw. "I'm not leaving."

"_Thought you wouldn't."_ The eerie calm had returned to the UnSub's distorted voice. _"Very well then, if you change your mind the door will remain open for the extent of your visit here. I wouldn't expect your already released friends to come to your aid, however. Their exits are separated from this one."_

"I wouldn't expect anything less", Hotch muttered dryly.

"_Choose a door, Agent Hotchner. But choose carefully. There are doors that can make your next rescue so much more difficult."_

Hotch pushed himself away from the wall and stepped over the dusty debris on the floor. He stopped in front of the first door on the right, placing his hand on the doorknob. He might as well take them in order.

"_Good choice. I do look forward to seeing how you handle this task. Let's see what you are willing to sacrifice and what you are willing to save. Good luck, Agent Hotchner."_

There was a click in the lock of the door and the voice in the speakers faded into a static blur and disappeared. Hotch turned the knob and entered the room, hoping to God that whatever lay behind the door was something he could master.

The second he laid eyes on what the door hid, he realized that he couldn't.


	4. Behind Door Number Three

**A/N: Time for another chapter, my friends! I hope this one is to your liking.. Next chapter will be up shortly, promise! Love to LT for beta reading!**

-o-o-o-

The sounds greeting Hotch as he stepped through the door were terrifying. Jerking, he let go of the handle and the door slammed shut behind him. He stared blankly at the scene before him for a few seconds, almost paralyzed, before a voice woke him from his daze.

"Hotch! Hotch, help us!"

The desperate scream was almost drowned in the growling and barking that filled the room.

To Hotch's left was a large steel cage, seemingly impenetrable. The bars were as thick as his wrists and there was no visible door. Behind the bars, three large and obviously very angry black dogs lurched at the steel, foam dripping from their jaws as they barked and growled furiously at the man who had just entered the room. Baring their teeth as they snarled viciously, the razor sharp fangs glistened in the dull light of the otherwise barren room. Barren apart from one thing, or rather – two things.

In front of Hotch were two massive lengths of hawser, as thick as his thighs. Both were firmly fastened to the floor at the back end of the room with robust chains. The hawsers ran up towards the ceiling, separating as they went. As they reached the ceiling, some ten feet apart, they were threaded through large metal loops, then hung down towards the floor. At the end of each chain something was fastened that made Hotch sick to his stomach.

At the end of one chain hung Emily Prentiss, at the other, Jennifer Jareau. Both of them swung helplessly from the ropes by their wrists. Handcuffs were fastened at the hawsers, and the weight of the women's bodies caused the cold steel to cut through the skin of their wrists. Rivulets of blood ran down their arms.

"Hotch! Snap out of it, help us!" Prentiss' voice finally reached Hotch, who came back to his senses.

He ran over to the women who hung from the hawsers, their feet a good three feet above ground. "Are you okay?" he called as he tried to reach JJ's bonds. It was to no avail, as the cuffs were much too high for him to reach, as were Prentiss'.

"We're okay, but what the hell is going on?!" The tone of Prentiss' voice was a mix between pure fear, anger and confusion.

"Long story", Hotch blurted as he ran over to where the hawsers were fastened to the ground. Realizing there was no way he could move the chain from its hold, and it was much too thick for him to break, even with a bolt cutter. As if on cue, the voice boomed through the room, louder this time to drown out the dogs' barking and snarling.

"_I suppose you have already figured out what you're supposed to do, Agent Hotchner."_

A loud beep sounded from over by the sturdy cage, and as Hotch turned towards it, he saw to his horror that a countdown had started. Three minutes, just like last time. The door on the far wall opened to the outside freedom, as usual.

Hotch looked around the room furiously. In the last room there had been a bolt cutter. _There must be some way… _ Suddenly, his eyes fell on something inside the dogs' cage, mere inches from the bars. It was an axe.

"_In three minutes, the door to the cage will be opened, and the dogs will be released. Anyone still in the room will most likely be torn to shreds. I'd recommend not to be. Thing is, Agent Hotchner, you only have time to cut through _one_ of the ropes, and save _one_ of your colleagues. It's up to you to choose who it is. And this is providing that you manage to cut through even the _one_ rope!"_

"You sick bastard!" JJ screamed as she thrashed at the end of the hawser, kicking wildly. The cuffs cut deeper into her wrists, increasing the flow of blood down her arms. A short whimper escaped her as she cringed at the pain.

"_Keep kicking like that, Miss Jareau, and the dogs might break through the bars without the door opening. See, the smell of blood drives them crazy. I've been starving them for days. You wouldn't imagine what an electric poker can do to an animal…"_

"You freak", Prentiss whispered as she watched the vicious canines attack the bars of the cage.

Meanwhile, Hotch had reached into the cage and grabbed the axe, narrowly missing getting his hand bitten off by the razor fangs. He was now rushing towards the two helpless women, and suddenly it struck him.

Who?

"JJ, get JJ down!" Prentiss yelled, motioning towards the young blonde with her head.

"No!" JJ cried through her tears. "Help Emily!"

"Hotch, she's a mother for God's sake! Get her down, get her out of here!" Prentiss' voice was trembling and cracking miserably. Desperately trying not to show fear, she watched as Hotch ran behind them until he was out of her line of view.

They could both hear the first impact of axe against rope, but JJ was the only one who could feel the vibrations in the rope. Hotch was cutting her tether. A look at the countdown through her tears told JJ that Hotch had just over 2 minutes to cut the hawser.

Hotch lifted the axe as high as he could above his head, and then brought it down with all his might onto the thick rope. Every time the axe hit, it cut a good part of the tether, but it was far from through.

"Hurry, please hurry…" JJ whimpered as a drop of blood from her wrist hit her cheek like a tear.

"Hotch, what's going on, why are we here?!" Prentiss figured that if she was going to die, she'd at least die knowing why.

"I don't know!" he called while raising the axe. "I woke up here and now someone is making me save everyone in the team!"

"What? The others are here?" Shock came over Prentiss' face, even more than before.

"I got Morgan and Garcia out already but there's…" he brought the axe down harder than before. "…more rooms!" With a loud creaking sound, the thick rope finally broke, and JJ tumbled to the floor with a thud. Hotch didn't take a moment to help the young agent up, but threw himself at the other hawser, beginning to cut it as furiously as the last. He would never choose between his colleagues.

The timer rapidly counted down, and suddenly there was only 30 seconds left. Hotch frantically swung the axe, bringing it down on the hawser tethering Prentiss, but it was going slower this time around. He was growing tired, and his arms were shaking. But he was determined to get the woman down.

JJ had gotten to her feet and managed to get the hawser disconnected from the cuffs. The metal shackles remained around her wrists, but now she was free to move. "Emily, hold on! Hotch'll get you down!" The moment she uttered the words, she realized she could have spoken too soon.

The lock on the cage door clicked menacingly, and they all froze, staring at the gate of the steel confinement. It slowly began sliding up.

"Get out! Get out, for God's sake, run!" Prentiss screamed at her teammates, who didn't move a muscle. Hotch was the first to move at all.

He rushed towards the cage, axe still in his hands. He knew he stood no chance against three rabid dogs, axe or no axe. The only thing he could do was stall. He jammed the axe between the bars and the lock mechanism on the floor, forcing the door to stop moving, at least temporarily. The dogs were frantically throwing themselves at the gate, biting it and clawing at it. The smell of fresh meat was getting to them. Making sure the axe would hold, Hotch ran back to the women.

"How are we going to get Emily down?!" JJ yelled to drown out the dogs' barking. "The rope, it's…"

"How did you get the rope off your hands?" Hotch called, taking hold of JJ's wrist.

"There's a latch on the rope…"

Hotch kneeled on the floor. "Get on my shoulders! Get up!"

JJ climbed up onto Hotch's shoulders, now understanding why. As he stood up, she held on to his forehead with her cuffed hands, and wrapped her legs tightly around his torso. They approached Prentiss shakily, and Hotch took a firm hold around her waist. "I lift, you release!" With that, he lifted the brunette, who did her very best to make herself as light as possible.

The young blonde reached for the latch on the rope which tethered Prentiss' cuffs. The dogs behind her barked furiously, and she could practically _hear_ the axe slowly slipping away from its place. Another thing she could practically hear was Prentiss' heart beating through her chest.

After a few moments of tinkering with the latch, it slid open and Prentiss dropped like a sack of potatoes into Hotch's arms, knocking down the entire balancing tower of people. They hit the floor in a pile, arms and legs everywhere. There was a loud cracking sound, and to their horror they saw that the axe's shaft had broken. The gate to the cage was coming up.

Hotch swiftly pulled both women to their feet, pushing them towards the open door to freedom. "Go! Go!"

"What about you?!" Prentiss called as she ran next to JJ on her way out the door.

"I can't take the risk!"

"I'll come with you!"

"Just _**go**_!" Hotch pushed the women out and slammed the door behind them, after which he rushed towards the entrance he had come in from. He had just gotten the door open and run through it when a thick, drooling head shot out between the wall and the door. Barking and snarling, the demon like creature fought manically to get through the door and sink his teeth into the warm flesh on the other side.

Hotch leaned his entire weight against the door, trying desperately to push it shut, but the dog was 150 pounds of pure muscle. With its paws, it managed to push the door open just enough to get through and as the door slammed shut, the creature had jumped up towards Hotch's face and sunk its teeth into the arm protecting the jugular vein. It all took less than a few seconds.

They landed on the ground, the dog ripping and gnawing at Hotch's arm. He screamed, not so much from the pain but from the shock of having a proverbial Cerberus attacking him. The dog yanked at the arm, thrashing wildly. Hotch almost thought his arm was going to disconnect from its socket. With his free hand, he desperately searched for something to defend himself with. Suddenly, his hand landed on something solid and instinctively, he grabbed it and swung it towards the dog.

It hit the creature square over the head, but didn't seem to make the slightest difference. Another strike did nothing as well, but the third impact made the dog let go of his arm. A whimper escaped it as it staggered to the side. Hotch raised his hand one last time, and brought the object down hard on top of the dog's head. The black beast sunk to the floor with a gargling sound and remained still, blood pooling around its nose.

Hotch rolled over, crawling away from the dog's body. His head was spinning from the intense pain along with the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. Gasping for breath, he sat down on the floor and leaned against a wall. Whoever was doing this to him was an extremely disturbed person. He had given up trying to build a working profile; it wouldn't do him any good at the time. Right now all he could focus on was saving his team. And surviving.

The disgustingly haunting voice once again sounded through the hallway. _"My goodness, Agent Hotchner, I wasn't expecting that."_

"Shut up…" he mumbled, holding his bleeding arm.

"_I'm very proud of you; you managed to save both of your friends and get out. Unfortunately, you also managed to kill one of my dogs. That didn't really make me happy."_

"Oh, and you think this madhouse is making _me_ happy?!" Hotch spat as he ripped off the sleeve of his shirt to tie around his wound.

"_Now now. Relax for a few moments before you pick the next door. Three left, you better pick the right one first or the rest are gonna be a total bitch."_

"Shut up…" he muttered. He knew he had to keep "playing", but it didn't mean he had to like it or play nicely. "You crazy bastard."

"_Crazy? Me? Now there's a word I've heard before. You know, people used to call me crazy, but you know, Oscar Levant once said: 'There is a thin line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line'."_

"Only a nutcase would quote Levant at a time like this. Proving my point exactly."

"_Oh, do buck up, Agent Hotchner. Get on your feet and choose the next room."_

Hotch strenuously got to his feet, his arm aching something horrible. "Fine." He muttered. "Fine, I'll keep playing your game. But just you wait until I get through this."

"_It'll be game over."_

Hotch positioned himself before yet another door and placed his hand on the knob, waiting for the tell tale click. Then it suddenly struck him. There were three doors left, but only two more members of his team. Who was behind the last door?

Before he could finish the thought, the door clicked open. Drawing a deep breath, Hotch turned the knob and stepped through the entrance.

"Hotch? Hotch! Help me! Aaaaargh!!!"


	5. Behind Door Number Four

**A/N: Alright, kids - it's time for the next exciting installment of Death's Play! Maybe I should put a little warning on this one, it's slightly on the gory side.. But I think you'll like it :) You kids enjoy yourselves now, and I'll try to update again as soon as I can! Thanks to the wonderful LT who loyally beta read this chapter!**

**(Oh, and if I'm completely off on the weight measurements, please forgive me - I did my best, but we use the metric system over here)  
**

-o-o-o-

The first thing Hotch saw was the blood. There was so much blood. Everywhere. For a few moments he actually thought he was inside a church. A most familiar image was presented before him, and he couldn't shake the extremely haunting feeling creeping over him. It was only the ragged breaths seeping through the air which woke him from his daze.

The call for help. The pain filled voice. The blood. The dusky light didn't conceal anything from Hotch's eyes. He saw everything.

He saw the large wooden cross. He saw the crown of thorns. He saw the nails. He saw the blood. And he saw Rossi's brown eyes looking pleadingly at him from across the room, trails of red blood running down his face from where the thorns cut into his skin.

But what really made Hotch's skin crawl were the nails. They must have been at least an inch thick, protruding from Rossi's palms. A longer nail had been hammered into Rossi's feet as they lay crossed at the base of the upright cross. Blood had dried around the massacred hands and feet, and fresh blood was still dripping.

The aged profiler was naked apart from a tattered cloth around his hips. His voice was just barely over a croak as he looked his unit chief in the eyes from across the room. "Hotch…"

Hotch couldn't move. He stood as if frozen, simply staring at his old friend. The terrifying sight promptly put Hotch off going to church for a long time forward. Carefully positioned lights lit up Rossi from behind, giving him almost a halo-like appearance around his head.

Separating the two was the same steel chicken wire fence as had been with Garcia. Hotch finally shook off his paralysis, and letting go off the door knob, he ran into the room, throwing himself at the fencing. He yanked at it with all his might, looking around for a bolt cutter. There was nothing.

"Rossi!" he called out, still holding onto the fence. "Hang on!" He couldn't think of one single good thing to say to a friend who had just literally been crucified, but could only encourage him to tough it out until he could save him. "Hang on, I'll get you down!"

Rossi cleared his throat. "I don't know if I can…hold on so much longer…"

"You have to, Rossi! You have to be strong; I'll have you down in no time!" Still holding the steel fencing, he turned his head to the side and called out into nothing the air. "What am I supposed to do!? Tell me! I don't understand!"

There was no answer from the voice in the ceiling.

"I'm playing your game, damnit! But you have to give me the rules!"

Still no answer. Hotch turned back to his senior colleague to give him more words of false encouragement, but he never got to it. "Rossi! David!" Hotch could see the older man's eyes starting to roll back into his head. "You need to stay with me!"

But Rossi's body had already suffered enough injury and was beginning to shut down. His eyes rolled back slowly, and his head finally drooped forward as his body went completely limp.

"No!" Hotch yanked one last time at the fence, knowing it was completely useless, then turned swiftly to run back out the door. Maybe he could find the bolt cutter in the blown up room. But as he reached the door and pulled at the knob – it was locked.

"Bastard!" Hotch yelled as he banged the door. "You brought me in here to watch him die?!"

There was no answer.

Hotch felt the anger rise inside him. He had been fairly compliant up until now, but how was he supposed to play a deranged game without rules and instructions? This was an impossible task. "Answer me, damnit!"

Suddenly, the speakers crackled to life once more. _"Forgive me, Agent Hotchner, I had an urgent matter to attend to."_

"And this isn't urgent?! What is wrong with you!?"

"_I think you'd agree that my matter held more importance, should you know what it was. Never mind that now. I suppose you want to know what to do to save your friend."_

Hotch's temper finally boiled over completely. "No, I want to know how to make bobbin lace – what the hell do you think!?"

"_No need to get testy, Agent Hotchner. Now, look to your right."_

Hotch turned his head, swallowing back a tirade of very bad words in the process. There would be no use in losing more temper than he already had. To his right, he saw something protruding from the wall, looking like a metal bowl on an extendable arm. He approached it and noticed a small dial above it, incased in glass.

"_That is a scale, Agent Hotchner. You need to get it to weigh in at exactly 1.76 pounds. When you do that, the gate will open and you are free to rescue your friend. As usual, the door is open on the other side, so both you and Agent Rossi are free to go, should you please."_

"If he survives", Hotch spat angrily, looking around for something to put on the scale.

"_Now now, I'm sure David Rossi is a good Catholic. And I'm sure he has no problem feeling his lord's pain."_

"Sick bastard", Hotch whispered under his breath as he realized that there was absolutely nothing on his side of the fence. It was completely empty. And the door was firmly locked. "What the hell am I supposed to put in the bowl to make it weigh 1.76 pounds?! There's nothing here!"

"_Oh, I'm certain you'll find something to put in it." _And the voice died out with a crackle.

Hotch looked around in disbelief. There was nothing there! He took a step to the side, and that's when he realized what he was supposed to put in the bowl.

Leaning against the wall, he lifted his foot up onto his knee and began untying his shoe. Throwing it into the scale made the dial show 0.45. The next one gave a total of 0.90. He was halfway there. The socks gave another 0.26. His shirt was already torn by dogs, explosions and crawling through chicken wire, so he slid out of it and put it quickly on the scale. 1.39. 0.37 more. Belt. 1.58. Almost there. With the help of the buckle on his belt, Hotch managed to make a tear in one of his pants legs just below the knee, and proceeded to tear it off in one swift motion. It all went on the scale. Now the dial showed 1.90.

Too much.

Hotch grabbed a sock and threw it out. 1.77. He yanked out three buttons from his shirt and dropping it back into the bowl he anxiously watched the dial.

1.76.

A piercing rattle was echoed through the large room as the fence rose up from the floor and Hotch could finally reach his senior colleague. Rossi's body was completely limp when Hotch finally got to him. "Rossi!" He reached out to touch the older man, but flinched, not knowing where to even put his hand.

He needed to get the nails out. Fast. Looking around for some sort of tool to help him release Rossi from the wooden cross, Hotch spotted a very large pincer in the far corner, just beside the open door. This was a very carefully constructed plan, Hotch had to admit. Nothing left to chance. All rooms had been the same, basically. He ran over to the door, and while he gripped the pincer, he drew a deep breath of wonderfully crisp air. It was getting brighter outside, and from what Hotch could see the time was somewhere around five or six in the morning. A quick calculation told him that he had been in this hell hole for approximately 9 hours. He shuddered at the thought as to how long his colleagues had been here, and what shape they had been in when they arrived.

Hotch returned quickly to Rossi, and with his back against the older man's chest, he reached the pincer between his legs, hooking it onto the nail jammed into Rossi's feet. It didn't take much force to get it out, but Hotch's stomach churned violently as he saw the clotted blood and bits of flesh still clinging to the metal nail. With a shudder, he released it from the pincer's arms and dropped it to the floor with a dull clink. Rossi's feet hung free, and Hotch did his best to support the older man with his own body, to keep Rossi's hands from ripping in two.

Raising the pincer over his left shoulder, Hotch got hold of the second nail and with little effort pulled it out. He could feel the older man slump down hard onto his back. Only one nail left. He repeated the same procedure on the final nail and Rossi's limp body collapsed completely on his shoulders. Hotch had to drop the pincer quickly to be able to grab his senior colleague before they both fell to the ground. With some effort, he managed to give Rossi a soft landing on the cold concrete.

The older agent didn't move a single muscle as Hotch gently shook him. "Rossi. Rossi!" With two fingers, the unit chief felt for a pulse on Rossi's neck. What he found was much weaker than he had wanted. "Rossi!" Hotch lifted the bloodied head carefully, and slowly removed the crown of thorns which had been burying itself in Rossi's scalp and forehead. "You're gonna be okay." But Hotch's words couldn't even fool himself. Not many things indicated that Rossi would indeed survive. He was severely injured and god knew how much blood he had lost. From the looks of it, it was about two quarts. "Rossi!"

The voice coming from behind him took him by complete surprise. "Hotch!" He spun around where he stood on his knees by Rossi's body, and looked into a pair of eyes which he had met many times before.

Prentiss ran into the room through the open door to the outside. "My god, what happened to him?"

"How did you get in here?" Hotch was slightly shocked to see his colleague there at this time.

"There are doors all around the building. I found Penelope and Morgan out there, JJ is with them. They're not in good shape…"

"Neither is Rossi." Hotch put his hand an inch away from the older man's nose and mouth. "He's hardly breathing and he's bleeding badly."

"Hotch, what's going on?" Prentiss placed her hand on her unit chief's arm, squeezing it slightly. She was still shackled. "You need to talk to me."

"I don't know what's going on! I woke up here and was told that I had to play a game or people I love would get hurt. I'm playing the damn game, and people I love are still getting hurt!" He rubbed a bloodied hand over his forehead.

"Do you have any idea who could be behind this? Any at all?" The stinging feeling of worry shot through Prentiss' body. She could see her unit chief was beginning to break down. She needed to lift him back up, if not for him, but for the rest of his team. "We need to get out of here. Help me carry Rossi." She took a hold of Rossi's bloodied ankles, but was stopped by her superior.

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean that I have to keep playing this deranged game. You and JJ are free, Garcia and Morgan as well. Now Rossi…"

Prentiss suddenly realized who was missing. "My god… Reid!"

"I have to go back through that door and into another room." Hotch buried his face in his hands and let out a sound resembling a growl. "This is insane…"

"I'll come with you. I'll call JJ and Garcia to come get Rossi, they'll take care of him."

"No."

"I'm sorry Hotch", Prentiss retorted quickly, "but this isn't about you being heroic! Reid is still in here somewhere, and I can help you!"

Hotch nodded tiredly. "Alright."

The voice boomed through the speakers once more. _"Actually, Agent Prentiss, this __**is**__ about Agent Hotchner being heroic. You have no part in this game. Take Agent Rossi and exit, please."_

"What is your problem!?" Prentiss exploded. "Who the hell are you and why are you doing this?!" She was calmed by a hand on her shoulder.

"Prentiss, there's no use." The profiler inside him knew that breaking a madman's rules at this point would only lead to casualties. Remembering the last time he had broken a game's rules, he shuddered. He had almost been responsible for one of his agents' death. He couldn't bear having that on his conscience again. He at least had to fight to help them. "Just get Rossi out of here and find something to bind his wounds with. Get help."

"There's no help to get, Hotch!" Prentiss blurted, throwing her hands up. "We're in the middle of nowhere, there's nothing but sand and rocks for as far as you can see."

Hotch's heart sank. Rossi wouldn't survive without proper medical attention, and fast. But they had to try. And he didn't know how long his youngest colleague had in whatever hellish trap set in 'his' room. "Try, Prentiss. We have to be strong. We'll make it."

Prentiss could see the doubt in Hotch's eyes and hear the tremble in his voice. But he was still her unit chief and she had to have faith in him. "Okay." She stood up by Hotch's side. "Help me carry him outside and I'll get JJ. We'll take care of him until you come back."

Hotch nodded, taking hold of Rossi's shoulders. With combined forces, they managed to carry their oldest member out the open door and into the crisp morning air. As Hotch looked around, they were indeed in the middle of nowhere. Sand, gravel and rocks. No civilization for as far as the eye could see. They set the older man down on the jagged ground.

As he turned to step back into the house from hell, he felt a hand on his elbow.

"Please be careful, Hotch." Prentiss' eyes were blinking back tears. "This is a seriously sick person we're dealing with."

"I know." Placing his hand over Prentiss', he gave her a short nod and returned to the house. The door slammed shut behind him and he was once again alone with his mind.

He headed towards the scale and reached to take his clothes, but was interrupted by the voice from the speakers once more. _"Ah-ah, Agent Hotchner – I wouldn't do that. If you disrupt the measurements, you won't be able to exit the door to the hallway. The door will lock if the scale tips either way. So you are left with what you have."_

Half a pair of pants. That's what Hotch was left with. He knew he shouldn't be surprised. Barefoot and shirtless he headed towards the door and turned the knob. True enough, it was unlocked and Hotch could exit.

Looking to his left, he saw the dead dog lying a few feet away. Looking to his right, he saw the still open door at the end of the hallway. He was not even remotely tempted to leave. Not knowing that someone was behind the next door in need of his help. That someone was most likely Reid.

He leaned against the next closed door, catching his breath. The chilly morning air seeped in through the open door at the end of the hallway, but Hotch wasn't cold. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was keeping him warm enough.

"_So this is your choice, Agent Hotchner?" _the distorted voice asked through the speakers.

"Not much of a choice to make", Hotch muttered as he rested his forehead against the wood of the doorframe.

"_Well, I wish you good luck then."_ And the voice died out.

"What? No wise cracks about the choice I made? No telling me how hard it's going to be? Are you running out of things to say?"

There was a moment's silence_. "Naturally not. I'm just anxious to see how this one plays out. It's an important room, and I do hope you manage to get through it. Have fun."_

"Fun…" Hotch whispered ironically with an exhausted smile. He put his hand on the knob, suspecting he knew what was hidden behind it. With a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside.

But nothing could have prepared him for what he was faced with once the door slid open.


	6. Behind Door Number Five

**A/N: No, I didn't die :) And thank you everyone who have encouraged me to write more, prodding me with messages and reviews - your work is finally paying off, guys! Here's the chapter you've all been waiting for for so long! Hold on to your pants, cuz here we go! Beta read by the lovely and totally legen-wait for it....DARY LT :D**

-o-o-o-**  
**

Hotch stood as if frozen the moment he opened the door to room number five. He didn't dare trust his own eyes. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. His stomach twisted instantly and a sharp exhale escaped him as his grip on the door knob hardened. An almost incoherent sound formed in his throat and got stuck there, unable to reach the air outside.

The room was twice the size as the other rooms and engulfed in complete darkness, except for one single source of light on the other side of the room. It smelled suspiciously like a dentist's office. The odor brought back a memory flash of Morgan's severed mouth.

On the far end of the room was a large, cylindrical tank of water, lit from below with a strong, white light. It gave the liquid inside an eerie glow as it rippled along the surface. Not to mention the person trapped within the glass walls.

Two slender wrists were hooked over the edges of the huge container. Long, shivering fingers hung loosely along the outside of the glass. A head of wet, tousled hair peered out from behind the thin arms. The eyes told Hotch all he needed to know. The fear and the severe fatigue sparkled like slowly dying fire in the hazel eyes which were already marked by dark rings.

"Jesus Christ." It was all Hotch could whisper as he stood frozen inside the door, still clinging to the handle. The enormous vessel looked like it was miles away, but he could see every detail. The water was high enough to reach the young man inside to the mouth as he stood with both feet on the bottom. One foot was chained to the metal floor of the cylinder. The young man was naked, apart from a pair of boxer shorts.

Hotch released the door from his grip and it instantly slammed shut behind him, locking tight in the process. The agent hardly noticed. His focus was on his young subordinate. He had seen so much today; so many horrific things. He wasn't even sure if his agents were all going to survive the ordeal, especially Dave. The images of his older colleague crucified before him still swirled in his mind, and the nightmare wasn't even close to over.

Only a few seconds had passed since Hotch had opened the door, but it felt like an eternity when the two agents looked at each other from across the blackened distance. Finally, the younger agent spurted as water slipped into his mouth with a breath and he began coughing. "Hotch…"

"I'm coming, Reid!" Hotch kept his eyes glued on the man caught in the cylindrical deathtrap as he called out in reassurance. With sharp steps he began making his way across the darkness. He only made it a few strides before sharp pain shot up through his foot, and he stumbled to the side only to be greeted with an even worse pain in the other foot. Losing his balance, Hotch reached his hands out into the darkness, trying to find somewhere to grab hold, but found nothing more than vast emptiness. Not until he fell forward on the floor, his hands meeting the ground first did he realize what had caused the pain in his feet. At the impact, the same pain shot through his chest, arms and legs.

Hotch screamed. Not once during the entire time he had been confined in this hell hole had he screamed, but there was no keeping it in anymore. He screamed for everything that had happened that night, for all the horror that he had had no control over, and for the fates of his friends. He belted out his frustration and anger, and he howled for tears he'd never be allowed to release until this was all over. If it ever would be.

And he screamed for the broken glass boring its way into his already massacred skin. With every tiny move he made, the sharp shards dug themselves deeper and deeper into his body, ripping him to pieces. His scream lowered into a coarse groan as he tried to move without piercing himself further on the sharp shards.

"_Hasty, Agent Hotchner",_ the distorted voice sounded through the room, this time oozing of superiority and amusement. _"You should have waited, and I would have told you."_

Hotch lay sprawled on the glass covered in darkness, gritting his teeth. "You sick motherf…" Ending the sentence with a groan, he screwed his eyes shut and drew a breath. Even breathing hurt as his chest moved in the pile of razor sharp glass.

"_Now now. Language, please. That is no way for an educated man to express himself."_

Hotch forced himself to breath calmly, minimizing the slaughter of his chest. "Tell me", he growled.

"_Tell you what?"_

"Just tell me! Tell me what I'm supposed to do and then shut up!" Hotch was on his last ounce of patience, and it was running out – fast.

The voice chuckled. _"Manners, Agent Hotchner. All in due time. Now look up at your friend."_

Hotch raised his eyes and met with Reid's, which were still close to falling shut from the apparent fatigue. He tried to wordlessly tell his subordinate to hold on, to trust him. Reid's eyes looked frighteningly much like they didn't register much at all, almost glazing over. The water rippled as he moved sluggishly in the clear water, trying to make it easier to breathe over the rim.

"_I would say you have about…a minute, minute and a half go get to him."_

Hotch's heart began pounding again – as if it ever stopped. He didn't even want to think about how this would end.

"_If I were you, I'd hurry."_ Rustle. Click.

A second later, there was a splashing sound above the superior, and he jerked his head up to see. The pitch black darkness made it impossible to identify what was happening, but he could follow the rushing sound forward into the room.

Hotch had failed to notice the large pipe hanging over the cylinder, and the sound of rushing water now echoed through it out roared through the open end.

Moments later, vast amounts of water began pouring over the young, chained agent who began thrashing under the flood. "Hotch!" Only one word made it over his lips before his head was submerged in the cylinder. Reid had no way of breathing and jerked at his chain to tear loose. He failed and began banging the glass from inside, desperately holding his breath.

"Reid!" Hotch raised himself on his under arms and knees, brushing his arms over the floor in front of him to get the glass out of the way. Pushing the pain aside, he felt the adrenaline rush through his veins and blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the thundering sound of the water crashing down on his subordinate. "Reid!"

Hotch saw the young man struggling in the water, the chain constricting his every move. He could feel the desperation rolling over him like a tidal wave as he got absolutely nowhere. Brushing the glass out of the way didn't help; he couldn't get ahead at all. He didn't even feel the pain in his arms anymore, just a throbbing that went all the way up to his shoulders. He cried out in pure anger, shoving the shards aside with a sharp flail with his arm.

As he looked back up from the floor and tried to meet with Reid's eyes, he couldn't. The young man's body was limp under the rushing water, his arms over his head as he floated just under the raging surface.

"No!" Hotch pushed himself forward, realizing he had not even covered half of the room with his struggle. He had to do something. With strength only mustered in an extreme situation, the agent forced himself to his feet, ignoring the pain shooting violently through the soles of his feet and all the way up to his thighs. "Hold on, Reid!" With one last push of adrenaline induced power, Hotch ran across the shards, barely keeping his balance as he careened through the room. The crunching under his bare feet with every step was sickening and he could feel himself slipping in his own blood. Pain was still a thing of the past, to be dealt with in the future. Finally, he had covered the sea of glass and threw himself on the glass cylinder, banging its surface. "Reid! Reid!"

There was no response.

Hotch stumbled to the side of the container and found a short ladder leading up to the surface. Water was still crashing down into the already overflowing cylinder, and was now spattering over the floor and Hotch. A small item attached to the outside of the glass caught the superior's eye as he heaved himself up on the edge of the container. It was a small key. Hotch could only hope that it was the one that opened the shackle around his subordinate's ankle.

It had been attached to the outside of the glass, eye height. Reid would have been able to see it the whole time. He would have been able to see his rescue the whole time he had been caught in his possible watery grave.

It must have been sheer torture.

Hotch grabbed the key and with a deep exhale, he crawled head first into the container. Without air in his lungs, he sank like a stone to the bottom and could immediately begin fiddling with the lock. Reid's lifeless body was halfway to the bottom of the cylinder, moving involuntarily as Hotch kicked his way down and the water crashed down on top of the young agent. Reid's mouth was partially open and small air bubbles had collected around his nostrils.

Hotch furiously worked the lock with his aching hands as the water around him turned a bright red from his own blood. He could hardly see his own fingers through the murky water. Finally, he felt the lock pop in his hands and he yanked it off the thin ankle and swam to the top, grabbing Reid's slender torso as he went.

Drawing a sharp breath as they reached the surface, Hotch began shaking the younger agent violently. "Reid! Reid, wake up!" The lifeless man didn't move as much as a finger. Neither did he breathe.

With one hand still holding onto one of Reid's arms, Hotch heaved himself up and over the edge of the cylinder. When his feet connected with the steps of the ladder he winced and almost fell, but bit his lip and steadied himself. His own pain was a thing to be dealt with later. Reid's life was the important thing right now. With one last burst of energy, he pulled the young man's lifeless body out of the tank and with an unceremonious crash they fell to the floor tangled in each others' limbs. Reid still wasn't moving.

Hotch crawled up from under his subordinate's limp body, turning Reid's face up. "Reid!" He smacked the pale cheeks in an attempt to wake the young man up, but to no avail. A quick ear to the chest confirmed his worst fears. He couldn't hear a heartbeat, and Reid wasn't breathing.

Lifting the young agent's neck up and tilting his head back, Hotch pinched Reid's nose, and quickly began trying to breathe new life into his friend. Pressing his blood soaked, hurting hands down onto the thin chest, he began doing compressions. "Come on…come on!" Once again, he locked his mouth onto Reid's, blowing more air into his lungs.

All the while, Richard Slessman's words echoed through his head. _"They never give you the real facts about CPR. That outside of a hospital it's only effective 7 percent of the time."_

"God, please…" he mumbled as he breathed into Reid's mouth another time and continued compressions. "Please…"

93 percent certainty of dying.

He mercilessly pressed down on the thin chest, almost afraid to break the younger man's ribs. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't lose Reid. The world couldn't lose Reid. The pale, wet skin was stained with blood from Hotch's cuts and wounds running down his arms.

Hotch took Reid's neck with one hand and pinched his nose with the other and breathed into the open mouth, forcing the chest to heave. Suddenly, he had a mouth full of water. Lifting his head to spit, he saw his subordinate turn his face to the side and finally heard him spew water all over. The desperate coughing was like music to the older man's ears. He lifted Reid by the shoulders and let his shivering body rest against his while the young man heaved and retched, getting rid of the water plaguing his lungs. Hotch held him, patting his chest. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay."

Finally, Reid settled down and began breathing normally again. His thin fingers had a firm grip on his superior's wrists. They stayed that way for a minute, just thanking the higher powers that they had survived. "Thank you…" Reid whispered. "Thank you."

Reid slowly and reluctantly let go of Hotch's wrists only to find himself smeared with blood. "You're bleeding", he croaked and coughed.

As if stepping out of a haze, all the pain came back to the older man and he winced. He had managed to forget about it for long enough to save his friend, but now it all returned. He would have to deal with it now. With a groan, he released the young man from his arms and leaned back on the wet floor. The water had stopped crashing down the moment the two men had made it out of the tank. Resting his head on the damp cement floor, Hotch closed his eyes and breathed. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was as far as he could go. The pain shot through him with every move he made and his feet felt like they were on fire and about to fall off.

Reid crawled down towards his superior's massacred feet, almost scared to look. His entire body trembled, and nausea rolled over him as he saw the damage done to his boss' body. There were cuts and wounds everywhere; his legs, chest and arms and even his face. But the feet seemed to be in the worst condition.

"Pull them out", Hotch groaned as he lifted his arm to wipe water out of his eyes. "Please, just pull them out."

The dull light emerging from inside the tank was the only illuminating source of the room. It was barely enough for Reid to spot the bigger pieces of glass, shards, deeply embedded in his superior's naked feet. One by one, he eased them out, careful not to cause Hotch any more pain than absolutely necessary. A few of the items stuck in the skin weren't glass, as Reid came to realize as he pulled them out. They were sharp iron caltrops, normally used to puncture tires of fleeing cars. It pained him to know that Hotch had endured this horrific agony just to save him.

"I don't know what to say", he mumbled as he pulled out a caltrop. "Thank you. You saved my life."

Hotch couldn't answer. He was too busy trying not to scream. Maybe this really was his limit.

"_Well done, Agent Hotchner!" _The disgustingly cheerful voice once again boomed through the speakers hidden somewhere in the darkness. _"I had my doubts there for a moment or two – shame on me! I should have known that you always pull through. You're almost done now, only one door left."_

Hotch turned his head away from the darkness and closed his eyes. His entire body screamed for him to stop; to give up already. To just lay there and die.

Reid looked up into the darkness. "Who are you? Why are you doing this to us?"

"_Wow, those are two questions I am thoroughly sick of hearing today. Next time I'm putting gags on the lot of you."_

The young agent looked at his superior. He had never seen him look so tired and damaged. Not even when he had fought Foyet.

"_Maybe you'll be able to help your boss there, huh? What do you say, Spencer? You up for it?"_

"No…" Hotch mumbled. "Go… Get out…"

"_Actually, Agent Hotchner – the last room is a two person challenge. So you do need Spencer to finish. There is no door opening to the outside this time. You're going to have to work together."_

A sharp clank came from their left, and a door slid open. It had been hidden in the cement wall. This door wasn't on the far wall, where the others had been. This seemed to lead into the next room.

"_Whenever you're ready, boys."_ Crackle. Click.

Reid sat silent for a few moments. "What do we do? This guy is batshit insane, who knows what's in there." He picked a few shards from his boss' chest.

"I'm trying to figure it out", Hotch said tiredly as he winced. "I don't think I can explain what's going on…"

"As far as I can see, someone has a serious problem with either you or me."

"Me", Hotch quickly replied. "It's been…I've…Everyone is here…"

"What do you mean?" Reid frowned as he pulled a caltrop from Hotch's belly button.

"Nnnngh… They're all here. Morgan, Emily…everyone."

"You mean…"

"Yes." Hotch opened his eyes and looked right into his subordinate's. "I'm afraid of who's in the last room."

Reid knew exactly what Hotch meant. There were only so many people who had earned a place in his boss' heart. And odds were horrible that this madman had saved the worst for last.

"Help me up." Hotch reached out a bloodied hand and Reid took it. With a long groan, the older man pulled himself up with the help of his friend. Supported by the already wobbling Reid, he began making his way towards the door.

His heart pounded harder and harder with every precarious step. His brain told him what was waiting inside the next room, but his heart refused to believe it. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. It can't be. It can't. Can't. Can't.

_Please, don't let it be…_

But it was.

With a howl of anguish, Hotch fell to his knees the moment they entered the room.

"No…"


	7. Behind Door Number Six

**A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, you have waited far to long for this, but here it is now - the absolute final installation of Death's Play. I hope it will be to your liking. Forgive the long hiatus of my writing, but my muse has completely forsaken me and I have a feeling it will be a very long time before I write anything here again. Maybe I will kick it up again when the season starts, but I don't know. Thank you all for sticking with me during this time and I hope you all like what you read! As always it's beta read by the fabulous LT!  
**

-o-o-o-**  
**

It was the one thing that would send Hotch over the edge. There had been so much pain, so much terror and so much horror over the last hours, yet nothing had managed to rock his determination and strength. That is, until now.

He could feel every joint in his body scream in pain as he fell to the floor, kneeling next to Reid, who tried miserably to hold his boss on his feet. Reid himself felt his heart sink as he looked into the room; a wave of nausea and intense fear crashing over him.

Gritting his teeth, Hotch squeezed his bleeding thighs in an attempt to regain some form of composure. He couldn't let go now. Not now. Once again he raised his eyes to take in the view before him. It was without a doubt the most frightening thing he had seen in his entire life.

The room was divided into two, a large glass wall separating them. Half of the glass was pitch black, seemingly leading into a third division of the room. Half of the glass, however, was clear as day, and what was behind it had Hotch shivering.

On the other side of the glass was a room, a perfectly normal room. It was filled with toys and balls, colorful blocks and books, videogames and coloring books. It would be the dream room of many children, had it not have been a part of such a nightmare. In the middle of the room, on a blue and green checkered mat, sat Jack, peacefully playing with a toy racing track.

Hotch got to his feet and stumbled over to the glass. As he pressed his hands against it, they were smeared with blood. "Jack!" he cried as he banged the apparently thick glass. "Jack!"

The child didn't react at all, but continued playing with the small cars, this time making them fly above his head and crash down on the tracks.

"Jack!" Hotch yelled once again, slamming his hands into the glass.

"Hotch, it won't work!" Reid touched the glass next to his superior. "It's soundproof. And it seems to be a one way mirror."

"There has to be a way in", Hotch gasped, running his hands over the glass. "There has to…"

"_Of course there's a way in, Agent Hotchner"_, came the horribly distorted voice once more.

Hotch spun around. "You bastard! If you hurt my son, so help me God, I will kill you!" He had already lost his wife to a homicidal lunatic, he was not prepared to lose his son as well.

"_Now, now, Agent Hotchner, let's all just take a breath and relax."_

"No! No, I will not relax! Just tell me what to do and let us out!"

There was a short chuckle on the speaker, then a short exhale. _"Very well then. Do you see that handle behind you?"_

Hotch turned from the glass, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from his son. A metal handle, resembling a stirrup, hung in a chain from the ceiling. "Yes."

"_Better grab it!"_

A rustle was heard, then a clink, and suddenly the handle began rising. Hotch threw himself at it, but the intense pain in his legs and feet caused him to stumble. He reached for the handle, but missed. Instead, Reid dove for the handle, catching it at the absolute last moment before it would become unreachable for them both.

"_Good! Now turn around and keep a close eye on the ceiling."_

The men turned towards the brightly lit room containing the small child, and looked at the ceiling. What they saw shocked them both.

Large metal spikes were protruding from the wood of the roof, some as long as an adult's arm and razor sharp. The ceiling seemed very unstable.

"_You had better hold onto that handle, Spencer, it is the only thing holding the ceiling in place."_

Reid stared at the handle in his hands above his head. The metal was already becoming sharp and cutting into his hands, and the weight was chilling. "Hotch…"

"Reid, you hold onto that thing as if your life depended on it." There was no arguing with Hotch at this point, and he knew the 'rules' of this sick, demented game. There was always a twist. He looked at his son, who played soundly only 10 ft underneath one of the longest spikes. Pain shot through Hotch, but not physical pain. His heart felt like it was about to burst into a thousand pieces. Silently he begged his son for forgiveness for allowing him to end up in a situation like this. "Now what?" he yelled furiously to the anonymous voice.

"_I have a game for you, Agent Hotchner."_

"What a surprise, just tell me!"

"_There is a keypad on your right hand wall. If you enter the correct code, a safety latch will engage and support the ceiling. If you enter the wrong code…"_

"What code?" Desperation was rising inside Hotch, whether he accepted it or not. He saw Reid's arms trembling and hands dripping blood. There was not much time.

"_Listen up, Agent Hotchner. What does man love more than life, fear more than death or mortal strife, what the poor have, the rich require, and what contented men desire, what the miser spends and the spendthrift saves  
and all men carry to their graves?"_

The words spun in Hotch's head, a mishmash of blabber and rhymes. "What?"

"_Now let's see how long Spencer can hold on before… Well, let's just say that you ought to find the answer to my little riddle quick. Good luck!"_ There was a crackle on the speaker and then nothing but silence and the sound of two men's strained breath.

"No, wait! Wait! I didn't hear it!" Hotch's voice trembled as he limped over to the keypad. There were letters from A-Z and numbers 0-9 on it, but Hotch was completely clueless as to what the answer was. And they only had one single chance. "Love more than….strife? Being poor and…what the hell did he say?"

Spencer gave a strained moan. "What does man love more than life, fear more than death or mortal strife, what the poor have, the rich require, and what contented men desire, what the miser spends and the spendthrift saves  
and all men carry to their graves? That's what he said!" The handle began grinding his fingers harder and harder as he desperately tried to hold on. Blood ran down his arm and as he shifted his grip ever so slightly, a new, white pain shot through his hand and arm as the metal cut through his flesh and grazed the bone of his index finger. He screamed.

"Reid!" Hotch stumbled over to his subordinate, who violently shook his head.

"Get the answer! Get it!"

Hotch rushed back to the keypad, his mind racing a million miles per second. Reid's brilliant mind was completely useless at the moment as it was muddled by intense pain. Only Hotch could save his son.

He could hear his subordinate scream once more, and forced himself to think. What do the poor have and rich require, what do all men take to their grave, love more than life and fear more than death?

Then suddenly, it dawned on him, and he came to the chilling realization that he had been shown this riddle before, only differently formulated. The situation had also been similar. It couldn't be…

"Nothing…" he whispered. Just as he raised his hand to enter the password, he heard a desperate cry from behind him.

"Hotch, I'm slipping! I can't…! I can't!"

Hotch typed with shaking fingers. N-O-T-J-

"Damn!"

"Hotch! Oh, God…! Hurry!"

N-O-T-H-I-N-F

"Fuck!" Hotch smashed his fist into the wall in frustration. His fingers were shaking so badly, he could hardly hit the letters.

One final scream made Hotch spin around and race towards Reid. "Hotch, I'm sorry!" The desperate, shrill voice died off as a rattling noise, followed by a thud. Reid had lost hold of the handle and fallen to the floor.

"No! No!" Hotch threw himself at the handle, but it had already slipped away from reach. "No! Jack!" He crawled to the glass, banging it. "Jack!"

The ceiling rapidly lowered for a second and dropped about five feet, then stopped abruptly, the spikes some six feet from Jack's head. To both men's surprise and incredible relief, the roof then began to slowly return to its original place and stopped soundly.

Hotch's breathing came in short, hard bursts as he slumped down against the glass. A tear fell silently off the tip of his nose as he leaned forward against his knees. "Oh God… Thank God…"

Reid's voice interrupted his short moment of bliss. "Hotch…"

Hotch looked up at his subordinate, who was rising from the floor, facing the blackened part of the glass wall. It was no longer blackened. Hotch leaned on the window to get to his feet, and suddenly, his eyes fell on something he would not have expected.

On the other side of the glass, separated from both the agents and Jack, stood a person covered by a dark cloak, seemingly watching them. The face could not be seen because of a hood.

Hotch limped over to Reid, who helped him stand steadily. Together they stood in silence for a few moments before any of them spoke. It was Hotch who broke the silence.

"Who are you?" A part of him had already figured it out, but he had to be sure.

"_Who do you think?"_ The distorted voice sounded much closer now, and they noticed that it was actually coming from a small speaker just next to the glass.

"I think… You're an extremely deranged person who has a pathological attraction to games."

A small chuckle. _"Can't argue with you there, Agent Hotchner."_

"Let my son go, he's just a child." Hotch fought furiously with himself not to lose control of his temper. If he did, it could be the last time he ever saw Jack.

"_Maybe."_

The cloaked figure turned away from the glass and moved slowly towards a door leading into the furnished room where Jack was busy playing a game on a PSP.

"Leave him alone! Don't you go near him!" Hotch struck the glass in front of him, but to no avail. The figure entered the room, and Jack shortly looked up before returning to his game.

"_Hello, Jack."_ The voice could be heard from the other room as well. _"Are you having fun?"_

"_Yu-huh."_ Jack's voice was equally distorted. The speakers had been fixed in there as well.

The figure moved close to the little boy and kneeled next to him, back to the glass. Both men watched in absolute horror, not knowing what was about to happen. Hotch's heart was about to beat its way out of his chest, and he squeezed Reid's arm tightly as he fought to stay upright.

"_I just came to tell you that your daddy is here to pick you up."_

"_But I'm winning!"_ Jack's little voice sounded almost annoyed.

"_Yeah, I can see that. But you know what?"_

"_What?"_

"_You can pick any toys you want from here and take them home with you."_

"_For real!"_ Jack looked up at the figure with a smile on his face which lit up the entire room. _"Thanks!"_

The figure lifted its hand and put it over the little boy's shoulders. _"I'm pretty sure you'll have more fun with it than I would."_

"_Can you babysit me again some time? This place is really cool."_ Jack kept playing the game as he spoke, not really looking up.

"_No, sweetie, I'm sorry. I have to go away for a while. But I'm sure we'll meet again before you know it."_ The hand patted Jack on the back, almost lovingly.

Hotch gritted his teeth. "Don't touch him…" he growled lowly.

"_Okay",_ said the figure and rose from its place. _"I have to go now, but your daddy will be here in a couple of minutes, so don't you worry. Can I have a hug goodbye?"_

Jack put the game down on the mat and rose, throwing his arms around the figure's legs in a tight hug. _"Bye, aunt Sissy."_

"_Goodbye, honey."_ The figure hugged Jack back and stroked him over his blonde hair. _"Now you win that game, alright?"_

"_Alright! Bye!"_ He plopped back down on the mat and grabbed the PSP. Bleeping sounds were heard for a few moments until the figure had left the door and closed the door, and it all went silent again.

The figure once again approached the window.

"Aunt Sissy…" Hotch mumbled as his fears were confirmed.

As the figure pushed the hood back from its face, Reid lost his grip on Hotch and stumbled backwards and straight into the opposing wall. "Y-you!"

"_Yes, Spencer – me. I'm flattered you remember." _Turning towards Hotch. _"Oh, come on, Agent Hotchner. I'm insane, not a monster. I'd never hurt a child. But what better way to play a game than with a child involved? Makes everything so much more interesting."_

"If I get my hands on you…"

"_Oops, sorry, don't have more time now. My ride is waiting, so I have to go. Jack is fine, he's eaten dinner and I even took him to the bathroom. Hence my short absence there for a while…"_

"You…"

"_No, you listen now, Agent Hotchner, because I have one last thing to tell you."_ A moment of silence. _"When you entered the room where Spencer was held, there were two doors left in the hallway. This is the room next to Spencer's. Who did you sacrifice to save Spencer, Agent Hotchner? Who was behind door number seven?"_

A smirk.

"_You will never know."_ A short wave. _"I must be going now, have a lovely life, both of you!"_

"Wait! Wait!" Hotch banged the window. "How do we get to Jack!"

"_Oh."_ A gesture towards the end of the window. _"There's a door there. I'll open it once I get out."_

And so the figure disappeared through yet another door, leading to the outside. A few seconds later, a glass door popped open into the second room, and Hotch could finally rush through it. He grabbed the handle to the outside door, but it was locked. Turning towards the door into the room where Jack was, he began trembling. Would there be another trap sprung on him as he opened the door? Would there be another sick game?

Hotch slowly opened the door into the furnished room. Jack looked up from his game.

"Daddy! Daddy, what happened to you?" The young boy looked almost frightened, and it suddenly dawned on Hotch that he must look horrendous, with blood and cuts everywhere on his half naked body.

With a relieved smile on his lips, Hotch limped over to his son and slumped down onto the floor next to him. "Daddy had an accident, sweetie. But I'll be okay. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Aunt Sissy played with me all day and we had a blast!"

Hotch ran his fingers through his son's blond hair. "That's good… That's good…" Tears gathered in his eyes, but he blinked them back.

"Dad? Can we go home now?" Jack looked up at him with a smile.

Hotch smiled back. "Yeah. Yeah, we can."

"Can we get ice cream?"

Hotch chuckled. "Anything you want, little man." He pulled his son into a tight hug.

"Daaaad! I'm winning!"

Hotch threw a quick glance at Reid, who had not moved from his place by the wall. He could hear the young man mumble over and over: "Not again… Not again… Not again…"

Images flashed before Reid's eyes as he was once again thrown back into a nightmare he thought would never return. The pain, the humiliation, the fear… The terrifying imprisonment in an oubliette torture chamber. The insanity of a woman who loathed his mentor beyond bounds. The madness. The blood. Once again he fell back into silence, futilely trying to fight the nightmare in his head away.

Hotch briefly watched the terror on his subordinate's face, and while holding his son close in his aching arms, it dawned on Hotch. Who had been in the seventh room? Who, without knowing it, had he sacrifice to save Reid? He really would never know.

-o-o-o-

**A/N 2: Don't get the ending? Read "Sins of the Father", it'll all make sense :) And I can say right away - there will not be a sequel, epilogue or anything resembling it. Sorry guys! Love ya all tho for sticking with me!**

/AA


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